


The Suit Doesn't Make the Man

by AshCommaMan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort, I haven't seen homecoming yet lol but my friend proofread it, Iron Dad Tony Stark, One Shot, Tony just wants his trans son to be happy, Trans Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 08:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11574021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshCommaMan/pseuds/AshCommaMan
Summary: Peter hangs around Queens to escape his problems, and Tony comes to talk to him.Done by request on tumblr. If you've got a request, feel free to submit one! the-voice-of-night-vale.tumblr.com





	The Suit Doesn't Make the Man

The wind felt nice against Peter’s cheeks. They were hot, and wet, so the wind chilled his skin. He sat crouched at the top of a building. He had been sitting there only for a few minutes, trying to get himself to stop crying, to stop choking on sobs, telling himself over and over “come on, Peter, it doesn’t matter.” But the tears kept coming.

He tipped his face up towards the sky, blinking the blurry wetness away. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and he took it out. It was Aunt May, asking if he was going to be home soon.

_No_ , he replied, _might be a few hours_. He sighed and stood up, taking off his backpack and setting it down. He hoped he would be able to remember where he put it, so he could come back to it in a few hours. He wanted to wander around, swing through the city, so he might be able to clear his head and feel better. It was getting dark, but he didn’t care.

He put the suit on, though the kept the mask off for just a moment, wiping feebly at his face one more time.

He put the mask on and took a running start off the edge of the building, and shot some webbing out and swung in between the buildings.

This made him feel better, honestly. Using his powers, doing impossible stunts like they were nothing, being Spider- _Man_ helped to ease the dysphoria, helped to block out the words from the people at his school. He may have had top surgery, he may have been taking testosterone, but his voice was still squeaky and sometimes feminine, he couldn’t get away from his slight curves, and he couldn’t escape the fact that people _knew_.

But in the suit, swinging around, made him feel a little better. It made him feel like he was in the right body, for once.

Peter swung around for a little while, doing crazy backflips and mid-air somersaults, before finally climbing up to the top of a building and sitting there.

He didn’t know what time it was, and he realized as he went to check his phone that the battery had died. It was probably past nine o'clock, but he didn’t want to go home yet. He took off his mask and looked at it for a moment, and suddenly he felt his eyes welling up again.

“Dammit, Peter, stop it!” he told himself. He ripped the mask off and started rubbing his face again.         

Peter suddenly heard what sounded like jet engines, and he turned to look where it was coming from. He stood up, recognizing the vaguely human-shaped figure as Mr. Stark’s Iron Man suit. He took a couple steps toward the center of the rooftop as Mr. Stark hovered into a landing.

“You know there’s a curfew,” he said, though it was obvious that he wasn’t serious.

Peter felt a brief smile cross his face. “I didn’t want to go home yet,” he told him with a small shrug.

The suit’s feet touched the ground and it opened, and Mr. Stark stepped easily from it. He seemed to notice the redness around Peter’s eyes and face and he frowned. “What happened?” he asked, taking a few steps forward.

Peter rubbed his eyes slightly and turned away. “Nothing,” he said dismissively, even as his voice cracked. “Just some assholes at school.”

“That’s not nothing,” Mr. Stark replied simply, raising his eyebrows slightly. “What were they saying?”

“The same old transphobic stuff,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t even know why it bothered me.”

“You know that stuff is allowed to bother you, right?” Mr. Stark watched as Peter went and sat down on the edge of the building, one of his legs hanging over the edge as he looked out over the skyline of Queens.

Peter didn’t reply, but after a moment, Mr. Stark came and sat next to him. Peter looked up at him for a moment, before sniffling and looking away.

“Look, Pete, I don’t pretend to understand what you’re going through. But the things people are saying to you are allowed to bother you.”

“It shouldn’t, though. I’m closer to being an actual guy than I ever have before, I shouldn’t still feel like a girl.” Great, now he was complaining and being weird to Mr. Stark.

“Peter, listen,” he said. “It doesn’t matter how close you ‘get’”–he made air quotes for emphasis–”to being a guy. You’re still going to be sensitive about it. And that’s okay. I mean, I sure as hell don’t understand what it’s like to be transgender, but I know that we all have insecurities and we can block those out, but they’ll never really stop.”

Peter scoffed. “You don’t have any insecurities,” he said doubtfully.

“Oh?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “I beg to differ.”

“But you’re Tony Stark. You’re Iron Man. You’re the coolest guy in the world.” Peter shut his mouth, having not meant to sound that starstruck.

“But I struggle with PTSD, and with depression and self-image issues,” he said. “And I still haven’t quite gotten over my parents’ murder, or the tons of mistakes I’ve made. And really? Even Iron Man was the creation bred from my insecurities.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked, looking up at him.

Mr. Stark met his gaze for a moment and then looked over the city. “I made the suit because I wanted to do something good. I mean, yeah, the first one was to save myself, but I didn’t stop there. I _couldn’t_. Because for a long time, Stark Industries was used for war, for destruction. And I was guilty about that. I hid in the suit because it made me feel like I was doing something good for once. And this stupid… rich boy facade I wear isn’t… I do it because I’m afraid of being vulnerable.”

Peter bit his lip slightly. “I like being in the suit because I feel like my brain matches my body,” he said. “People don’t question it when I say 'Spider-Man.’ And I’m powerful, and cool, and I’m a superhero. It makes me feel better.”

“But the suit doesn’t make the man,” Mr. Stark said, looking over at him. “All those things are already in you.”

Peter sighed heavily, and he felt his eyes tearing up again. “Mr. Stark–”

“Peter, just call me Tony.”

“Tony…” That felt so alien on his tongue, and Peter didn’t know where he was going with the sentence anyway, so he stopped. Then, Peter felt Tony’s arm go around his shoulders. Peter looked up at him, slightly shocked. 

“It’ll get better,” Tony assured him. “Some bullies on the playground definitely aren’t the worst things you’ll ever have to face, especially in our line of work.”

Peter laughed a little bit, though it got a little choked up in his throat. “Thanks, Tony,” he said quietly, ducking his head a little bit.

Tony stood up, the arm coming away. “Come on, let’s get you home,” he said. “Your aunt is worried sick.”

Peter nodded and stood as well, pulling the mask back on as Tony got back into his suit.

Together they went back to the apartment. Aunt May, of course, lectured him about being so late.

Once she had finished, though, Tony beckoned Peter over. “C'mere, Pete.”

Reluctantly, Peter approached, and Tony wrapped his arms around him in an awkward hug–the awkward type of hug a father gives his son.

“It’ll be okay,” Tony said quietly. “And if you need anything, you can always call me, alright?”

“Thanks, Tony,” Peter said as the hug ended. He smiled a little bit at him and then went to his room. He took his clothes off and put his pajamas on, about ready to pass out. Something about all the shit he had gone through that day had worn him out, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what Tony had said to him.


End file.
